


Stop Lying To Yourself, Pumpkin

by Lost_Elf



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Corruption, Established Relationship, Graphic Description of Corpses, Kinda, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Murder Family, Rhys is a freak, Rough Sex, Serial Killer Handsome Jack (Borderlands), Unhealthy Relationships, some degradation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Elf/pseuds/Lost_Elf
Summary: Rhys and his luck. So, he is dating a famous serial killer, and he is in for a lesson by Handsome Jack himself. It is about time his kitten learns how to kill its prey.*** shameless gore fic, explicit bloodplay and woundplay, explicit murder ***
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Stop Lying To Yourself, Pumpkin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sinbirdy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinbirdy/gifts).



> Heed the tags! I won't even bother telling you that this is dark and blah blah. It's a serial killer AU, so what do you expect? But Jack is sweet to Rhys, _mostly_ , in a wicked way, so don't worry. ;)

Ideally, this would be the point where Rhys would ask himself how did his life even turn into this madness. But, well, he knows _how_ pretty well.

It all started with him going to a bar alone. None of his friends were free at the time but Rhys really needed a drink. After _a drink_ , he started chatting to a handsome man next to him, his numb tongue slurring his words beyond belief, to the stranger’s amusement.

The next morning, Rhys had a hungover, and a phone number, written by a _freaking permanent marker_ , on his chest, that was generously covered in hickeys. Vaguely, he remembered a pretty face, steamy hot sex and some growled threats that made liquid fire pool in his guts.

His friends were what gave him the courage to contact _Jack_ after he sobered up. Jack’s charisma was the reason for every date they had, and Rhys’ morbid curiosity, and _lethal_ stupidity, were why he didn’t leave ‘in time’. You could probably say, ‘while he still could’.

In his mind, the past six months were a deliberate scheme of the universe against him. In reality, all he had to blame was the fact that he was the biggest idiot in the galaxy. A dumbass who fell in love with a serial killer.

All that was left to say then was… oops? It was too late for Rhys. Not only was he positive that Jack, in all his possessiveness, would never _ever_ let the younger man leave him, but he wasn’t even sure he would want to leave Jack. There was something intoxicating about the older man, and Rhys was _addicted_.

Or, well, he kept coming back for no actual reason, so he told himself that. He was aware that he was grasping at straws trying to find half a good an excuse, but that was all he had. Especially when he was considering literally clutching at straws, pillars, doorframes, anything that would save him from being carried into Jack’s basement. It felt childish, but he ended up grabbing at the railing. It slipped right through his hands however, and Jack continued unstopped, carrying him downstairs basically without breaking a sweat.

 _And that brings us here_ , Rhys thinks begrudgingly, _to the point where I either get fucked in a highly unsanitary place, or get murdered for no fucking r_ — “Eeeeeee! Ew, ew, ew! What the—?!” A very, _very_ high-pitched scream tears itself out of Rhys’ throat, followed by squeaked swearing and more screaming. “What the hell?!” he manages at last, staring at the— the _body_ _that is laying right in the middle of the room!_

For his part, Jack turns to Rhys with an absolutely unimpressed gaze. “Really now, Princess?” he asks, shrugging one shoulder.

And Rhys knows, he _really fucking knows_ that he shouldn’t be surprised, that this was basically inevitable. Jack had talked to him about killing more and more openly lately, and he knew that it would eventually escalate into something terrible. Maybe he even knew _what_ terrible thing it would be, but he still had to ask.

“Is he,” he squeaks, coughing to try to get his voice back to normal. “Is he dead?” He adds a wide gesture of his hand, as if he had to specify which body he is talking about.

The smirk on Jack’s face confirms all his fears. Rhys gulps when the older man takes a slow step towards him, vainly considering trying to run back upstairs, but he is sure that Jack would catch up with him and capture again him in no time.

“Not yet,” Jack finally breaths out, chuckling at Rhys’ paled face. “Not until my sweet, obedient little kitten kills him for me,” he adds, closing the distance and pressing his lips against Rhys’ before the younger man can begin to voice his disapproval.

The kiss is long and passionate, and Rhys submits to it almost instinctively. Jack holds him in place by the back of his neck, making it impossible for him to escape the kiss until he is breathless and dizzy. When they finally part, Rhys stumbles back, panting and grinning.

That is probably also worth a mention. He is a _freak_.

 _But not_ that _kind of a freak_ , he scolds himself when his eyes come upon the body again. He shakes his head, looking up at Jack pleadingly. A second passes, and he isn’t immediately silenced, so he dares to even voice his opinion.

“I can’t do that,” he says, his tone sounding a lot like whining. “I don’t— I don’t want to be that; I don’t— I don’t want that.”

“‘S funny,” Jack says with a mirthful chuckle. He comes closer to Rhys again, grips his chin tightly to force him to look the older man in the eyes. “I don’t remember giving you a choice,” he murmurs darkly. “Did I give you a choice, Pumpkin? Did I _ask_ for your opinion?”

Gulping, Rhys tries to shake his head in the iron grip of Jack’s terrifyingly strong hand. He could probably strangle the life out of Rhys with one hand, he notes nonchalantly. His response is not enough, and Jack raises an expectant eyebrow at him, so Rhys finds the strength in himself to answer. “N-no, Jack,” he says, knowing that his boyfriend loves to hear his name – he said so multiple times – coming from his mouth.

“That’s right,” Jack agrees, a grin appearing on his face again, though a dark glint remains in his eyes. “So, be a good boy and _do what I say!_ ” he hisses, his lips twisting into a mean snarl for a second before the smile returns.

“Yes, Jack,” Rhys breathes out, his eyes falling half shut at a twingle of warmth that sparkles in his gut when he remembers all the other, x-rated situations when he said much the same thing in the same tone. Maybe he’d accidentally Pavloved himself, and maybe it’s part of being a freak, but the warmth stays, and now he is getting aroused in a room with a serial killer slash his crazy, possessive boyfriend, and an unconscious man.

Satisfied with the change in Rhys’ behaviour, Jack lets go of his chin and steps away from him, heading to one of the cupboards on the far wall. He walks around the body as if it wasn’t even there, even steps over one limb.

“I made it super easy for your first time,” he says conversationally, opening the third drawer of the second cupboard and reaching into its contents with practiced motion, rummaging for a while. “He’s not working, spends his days grooming children on the internet, pretending to be a model agency and asking for their photos. FBI really, _really_ wanted him, but that scumbag is surprisingly good at hiding. Got him – ha! – got him all the way up in Montana. What kind of psycho hides in Montana? I’ve never even been there before this.”

Turning his face back to Rhys, he holds up a small, sharp-looking scalpel. “Found it,” he says, as if waiting to be praised for the accomplishment, but the younger man is speechless.

“Anyway,” Jack continues. “He’s a real piece of shit, one of the worst I’ve caught so far. That should make it easier for you, right? Take the weight of morality off your shoulders or something.” Again, he makes a pause, as if he really was expecting Rhys to appreciate it. “The first kill is the hardest, so you should be grateful that I’m trying to help you,” he mumbles, clearly put off by Rhys’ lack of response.

The younger man remains rooted in place, unmoving and unblinking as his mind runs in circles trying to process, or better yet, find a way out of the whole situation.

Jack’s patience – a thing that only _maybe_ exists, anyway – runs out, and he walks back across the room, grabbing Rhys by the back of his neck and dragging him towards the unconscious man. He follows without much resistance, used to being manhandled by Jack. His feet, however, freeze in spot again when his socks meet the plastic foil on the ground around the body.

“Oh God,” he whimpers, as if the plastic foil on its own made everything ten times more serious.

“Right next to ya,” Jack answers, laughing at his own joke. He looks Rhys up and down quickly, frowning. “Y’know, I kinda like these clothes on you, so we better not ruin it. Take them off.”

Nodding, Rhys does so, motivated by the dangerous glint in the corner of his vision – the scalpel still held haphazardly in Jack’s hand. Would Jack kill him if he refused? Well, that’s a silly question, because denying Jack is simply not an option. Rhys is weak for the man, and he’ll do whatever Jack wants, whether he wants to or not.

Once naked to his underwear, which Jack scowls at, Rhys turns towards the older man. Jack has also stripped himself down in the meantime, now standing next to Rhys in his jeans.

“So,” Rhys hesitantly asks when the older man doesn’t give him further instructions, “now we wait until he wakes up?” he takes a guess.

Wrong, he realises soon, as Jack doubles over laughing. “Oh geeze, I knew you’re gonna say something stupid!” he laughs clutching his stomach. “You’re gold, Pumpkin, a treasure!”

Jack continues to howl with laughter for a full minute, and then he collects himself, brushing a tear out of his eyes. Still chuckling, he teases Rhys: “I guess you want him to really suffer, huh? Want to enjoy his screams? Sure, we can wait for him to wake up, so you can have the full murdering experience, but I usually don’t.”

Rhys’ face is burning red when Jack is done teasing him. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “I’m not the serial killer here...”

A laugh next to him causes Rhys to realise what he just said, _how easily_ the words slipped off his lips. He groans and tries to hide his face in his hands, but Jack stops him, grabbing his wrists firmly and spinning him bodily, so they are face to face.

“But soon,” he says sensually, in the same voice he uses in the bedroom, “you’ll be my little killer too.”

What follows next is quite anticlimactic. While Rhys is still shivering at Jack’s last statement, the older man shoves him to the ground and unceremoniously presses the scalpel into his palm, forcing Rhys to close it.

“I’ve got something special in mind for this asshole,” he says conversationally, the remnants of his threatening aura dissipating. “Thought you might like it, and he doesn’t deserve a quick death anyway.”

Rhys almost _sighs_ when he realises that Jack isn’t planning to make it any easier for him. Being allowed to just, maybe, cut the man’s throat and be done with it would be preferable.

On the other hand, he is curious what Jack has in mind that he could like.

“First, cut his stomach open, here,” Jack instructs, drawing a line with his finger.

Following the movement, Rhys finally takes the time to look at the man he is— he is supposed to _kill_. He – should Rhys ask for his name? Nah, that would make it worse. He’ll be _Joe_. Joe is a typical unkempt middle-aged man. The exact opposite of Jack, you could say. Where Jack is sharp and handsome, aged like good wine, Joe is blurry and boring. No pretty lines and sharp angles of his jaw, no real hairstyle, just a mess of piss-coloured hair, messy stubble and dirty sweatpants. Most of the ‘dirt’ looks suspiciously like dried blood, especially in the crotch area. The rest of his clothes has been removed, so his hairy chest is exposed.

“Are you trying to make me jealous of a dead man? Get to it!” Jack hisses, startling Rhys out of his thoughts. Too late, he thinks, probably having just memorised the body of someone he is about to kill, saving the image for future nightmares.

“ _Rhys_ , now!” the older man growls, the last warning.

Steeling himself, Rhys positions the knife exactly where Jack showed him. His hand is shaking, just like his whole body. He’s never been so scared in his life, but he’s determined to do it.

Only, his hand refuses to obey him, refuses to press the knife into the body.

“I _can’t_ do this, Jack,” he whines after hypnotising his own hand for a minute without success.

Scoffing, Jack grabs a hold of his hand, wrapping his free arm around the younger man to keep him in place for good measure. “Of course you can,” he brushes him off and guides Rhys’ hand _down_.

The scalpel pierces the skin like a hot knife slicing butter. Blood begins to pour out around it immediately, rolling down _Joe’s_ belly. Rhys’ mouth falls open in disbelief and he feels like his body was just thrown into a pit of icy cold water. In a sharp contrast to that feeling there is Jack’s hot hand trailing slowly up his naked side.

“Go on, Pumpkin,” the older man murmurs into the younger’s ear, his voice cutting straight to his frozen core and filling it with warm honey, sweet and thick and overpowering.

Like a puppet, Rhys does what he is told, dragging the knife in an even line down the centre of the victim’s body. More blood spills from the wound, slowly pooling on the plastic foil around the man. The body which is now twitching ever so slightly.

“Oh my God!” Rhys squeals, dropping the scalpel and covering his mouth, appealed how could he have missed it.

“That’s just reflexes,” Jack assures him, picking the scalpel up. “Larry’s too out of it to really feel it. Which is a shame but also convenient.”

“La—? Jack, don’t—! Why did you say his name?!” Rhys whines, hands dropping from his face, and _fuck_ , there is blood on them, which means that now he’s got blood on his face!

“Oh God,” he whimpers, reaching to scrub at his cheeks, but Jack catches his hands midway.

“Nu-uh, don’t do that,” he purrs, staring Rhys down hungrily. “Red looks good on you, sweetheart. Would be a pity to ruin a piece of art.”

A soft gasp leaves Rhys’ mouth when Jack cups his face and connects their lips. The older man swallows the sound, licking into his boyfriend’s mouth hungrily. Their kiss is just as passionate as before but woefully short, and Rhys whines when they part.

Keeping his hands on Rhys’ face, Jack rests his forehead against Rhys’ and speaks, using the voice that always gets to Rhys, again. When they first met, he used the same voice to whisper death threats and promises into Rhys’ ear while he fucked him into the next Tuesday. It still had the same effect on the younger man, stirring heat in his guts.

“You did what I said, kitten; I’m so proud of you!” he praises. “But what was that? You didn’t want to know Larry Davis’ name? Does that make this too real for you? Are you having second thoughts?”

Rhys shakes his head, wanting to defend himself, explain that those weren’t second thoughts, that he never wanted this. Jack, however, doesn’t let him speak.

“Don’t lie to me!” he hisses. “I’m tired of this shit, Rhysie. You keep pretending you’re some kind of a saint and I might soon get bored. Do you want to know what will happen to you when I get bored? No? Well, then stop fighting it! I know you’re a little freak deep under the layers of nerd. Let. It. Loose.”

Jack lets go of Rhys’ head and the younger man whimpers pitifully. He is now sporting a half chub in a room with a dying man; that man’s – _Larry’s_ – blood is now staining his knees, and Jack wants him to do something and he doesn’t know what.

Slowly, he turns back to Larry, reaching for the scalpel. Jack doesn’t hand it to him, though. “Use your hands,” he advises. “The wound you caused is big, but it won’t kill him until a couple hours. Humans are _stupidly_ resilient. Why don’t you help him out a little?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Rhys stutters, paling once again.

“You know what I mean,” Jack murmurs, guiding Rhys’ hand back to the wound. “Go on, little killer. _Explore_.”

As if Jack possessed him, Rhys obeys, fingers slowly inching towards the bleeding gap. Pretty soon, he gets fascinated by the slickness of the blood-covered skin and starts smearing the red liquid around, drawing pointless shapes on Larry’s paling skin until not a single inch is clean.

Rhys stares at what he’s created, equally mesmerised and disgusted. In his mind, he begins to debate whether this is normal. Maybe a way to cope with stress? That can be it, right? People do... weird shit when put in weird situations… Like draw on people with their own blood…

For freaking fuck, he is such a _freak_ , isn’t he?

“C’mon, kitten,” Jack whispers close to him, his hot breath brushing the shell of Rhys’ ear.

There is no going back, Rhys reassures himself as his hand dips into the wound on Larry’s stomach. Immediately, his mouth falls open on a surprised moan.

It is… warm and wet and _silky soft_. He has no idea what he is touching, but it feels good in his fingers, and he strokes it, pushing his hand deeper into the body.

The lack of resistance from the body itself is fascinating. Everything just parts for him, letting him in. The soft stuff clings to his skin, as if welcoming him, and blood pours out around his hand with every little movement.

Then the body twitches violently, and the spell breaks.

Rhys withdraws his hand abruptly, stumbling back, away from the body. Jack is there immediately to stop him from running, both strong arms wrapping around Rhys’ waist to keep him in place.

“Aww, and you were doing so good,” he mocks, teasingly biting Rhys’ earlobe. “What happened, killer? Lost all courage when the blood flowed out of your brain?”

It takes Rhys a while to understand what Jack is saying. He frowns in confusion and looks down, gasping audibly when he notices that he is now fully hard in his yellow-blue stripped boxer briefs, that are now also stained with blood.

“See, you were born for this!” Jack exclaims too close to his ear, lost in excitement. “It’s been in you all those years, waiting for me to bring it up. You just need to relax into it, Cupcake.” One of his hands moves lower, palming Rhys’ erection with intent.

Rhys bites his lip against a moan, refusing to submit to pleasure in that situation even as his hips buckle, precum spilling form his cock. He tries to fight it by looking at the suspiciously still body next to them, but he’s flooded by memories of the hot silky slickness, and the moan forces its way out of his mouth.

“There you go,” Jack praises him, tugging his underwear down. “You just need a little more encouragement, and then you’ll finally see it! See what I’m talking about.” He manhandles Rhys effortlessly again, positioning him on his hands and knees with his face just above Larry’s chest, his palms resting in the puddle of blood.

Rhys is not even surprised when he hears Jack squeeze lube out of a bottle, that he probably had in his pocket from the beginning. He moans deeply when two fingers slide into him, even participates by angling his hips to help Jack find his sweet spot faster.

Used to rough sex, Rhys doesn’t need much prep, and a few minutes later, Jack pulls his fingers out, wiping his hand on his lover’s back. He likes things to be messy. After a brief consideration, he wets his hand in the cooling off puddle of blood and makes a big imprint on the small of Rhys’ back.

“You’re perfect, kitten,” he breathes out, taken aback by the sight of blood on his precious Cupcake. He positions himself at Rhys’ asshole hastily, too excited to wait any longer, and fucks into him in one harsh thrust.

Rhys cries out, hands scrambling for purchase and almost slipping on the wet flooring. He opens his mouth to tell Jack to stop and wait until he finds anything to hold onto, but all that comes out is a moan when Jack slowly pulls out and thrusts in again, hitting his prostate.

“Are your eyes open, Cupcake?” the older man asks, keeping a leisure rhythm. “I want you to keep them open and see what you’ve done. What you’ve _enjoyed_ doing.”

He obeys and looks with teary eyes. Another moan slips him, betraying his feelings. He would _love_ to deny it all, to lie to himself again and say that he never wanted this, but the truth is that Jack is simply right, like he always is. Rhys is a _freak_ , and a _murderer_ , and he is sick but at least he is not lying to himself anymore.

The true reason why he contacted Jack again after their first night together is that he vaguely remembered a growled confession, something that sparked his morbid curiosity and got him hooked on Jack’s toxicity.

He stops muffling the moans that push out of his throat, moaning and crying out and begging Jack to go harder. When his hands inevitably slip, he finds just enough sense in himself to rest on his forearms, turning his face away from the dead body, because he doesn’t need that anymore. Jack broke him and Rhys _saw_.

Two kinds of wet sounds fill the room, completing the symphony along with Jack’s grunting and Rhys’ pleasured screaming. Jack used too much lube as always, and it squelches loudly and drips down Rhys’ thighs, and the bloody plastic foil is squelching too as his arms keep slipping, but Rhys couldn’t care less.

One of Jack’s hands comes to thread into his hair and pulls back sharply, causing his spine to bend awkwardly. The older man’s lips are at his ear again, and Rhys knows what is coming, he is _waiting for it_.

“How does it feel, being fucked by a famous serial killer, huh?” Jack growls into his ear, thrusting faster and harder. “You’re nothing, Pumpkin, I could _destroy_ you on a whim. I could break you, kill you, strangle you or cut your veins and watch you bleed out.”

Rhys moans, so close to orgasm that it _hurts_. He doesn’t even need alcohol to get off to that anymore.

“And you’d get off to that too,” Jack continues, stating a fact. “You love it. You’d beg for it if I wanted. It’s _pathetic_ ,” he murmurs, and then in an even lower voice adds: “And I love it! Will you come for me like this?” he asks, pressing the scalpel delicately to Rhys’ neck.

Without even being touched, Rhys comes, screaming Jack’s name. Only Jack’s hand keeps him from collapsing and pressing himself onto the knife.

“Fuck!” Jack growls, dropping both the knife and Rhys, getting a firm hold of his hips and fucking into him violently until he, too, comes. He collapses on top of Rhys, his weight pushing him further into the puddle of blood.

They both breathe hard for a few minutes, not moving. Only when all bodily and other fluids on their bodies cool off, and the younger man starts shivering, they get up, Jack helping Rhys stand up without slipping.

“Shower?” he asks, grinning. His excitement didn’t leave him.

“Please,” Rhys replies fondly. Then he frowns. “How do we even get the blood off?”

Jack shrugs. “Normally, I just don’t get dirty, but with you, I couldn’t resist. Guess we’re in for a night full of scrubbing our skins off.” He shrugs again, grinning at Rhys’ disgust. “Oooh, shut it! I bet you’ll get it up again when you see the blood flowing down the drain.”

Finally, they head to the shower in the corner of the room to wash themselves. Jack will take care of the body and the general cleanup later. Now, they have hot water and nice smelling soaps. Jack helps Rhys wash the blood off his back and face, and then holds him close as the bloody bubbles trail down their bodies to twist in a spiral over the drain, painting everything in red and pink. Jack hums contently while Rhys ruts against his thigh, his dick hard again.

He is a freak and in love with a serial killer.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all,
> 
> Hello, Larry!  
> Bye, Larry!
> 
> I've _always_ wanted to use this trope! I don't know why, I just love it! And it's quite common with Borderlands too, so I really, really wanted to put it in one of my BL fics. To create a character just to have it violently murdered by your fave! :D
> 
> Here's my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElfWriting)!


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